


Telephone Line

by GasDancer



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: ...sorta, Canon Compliant, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GasDancer/pseuds/GasDancer
Summary: After a tumultuous year between them, Alex travels back to LA while Miles is touring across Europe. One night, after a few drinks, Alex decides to make a bold move.





	Telephone Line

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Alex's recent trip to LA, and the general situation. Enjoy!

The door closed with a slam that seemed to echo directly into his skull.

Alex laid a careful hand on it, taking a second to allow his head to stop spinning. After a few seconds, once he made sure he was not about to throw up, he lifted his head slowly, shrugging off his jacket and taking a deep, calming breath. At least, he hoped it would be calming. His LA house was eerily quiet these days, the silence only interrupted by the occasional clatter of pans in the kitchen, the running water in his too-big bathtub, and the crooning melodies coming from his pickup. He didn't really mind it most of the time, if he was being honest. The quiet gave him space to think, and sort out the tangled web that had seemed to expand and fester in his mind the past year, slowly chipping away at his clarity. In the quiet of his house no one demanded anything from him, or clamored for his attention. Here he could just  _ be.  _ Even when he decided to venture out of his little serene bubble and meet up with friends, their noise and ruckus just filled him up with warmth, instead of irritation and anxiety. He was starting to make a habit out of thanking his lucky stars for Matt Helders, and his unwavering ability to sort him out, even for two-hour increments. He didn't realize how much he'd missed spending quality time with him and the rest of his friends until he got it back, and he'd been eager to make up for the lost time, making sure to follow whenever they went out. 

As it happened, and as was the norm, their outing involved pints. Usually he knew how to keep himself under control. A couple of drinks and he'd get a rosy tint in his cheeks and a slight giggle every other sentence, which would most of the times turn into a full blown laughing fit at one of Matt's silly jokes. Too many and he'd end up a mess, slurring unintelligibly and having to be shamefully carried all the way to his bed. The area in between, when he was still lucid enough, but pliant and a bit too loose?

That's when things got dangerous.

And as it also happened, Matt, usually the Atlas of his well being, had decided to shrug it all into the abyss tonight, and show him Miles' Instagram account. It had started out innocuously enough, with Matt bringing out his phone to laugh about a funny convo he'd had with Miles on one of his posts. Alex couldn't even remember most of it, some joke about a Perrier bottle at Miles' feet, because all his attention had been diverted to the man himself, playing the guitar with a smile that could warm him up even on the coldest London nights. Before he knew it he was browsing the rest of Miles' Instagram with a knot steadily forming in his throat, watching him alternate between his goofy partner-in-crime, to a scorchingly hot shirtless rockstar, and he drank it all in. And then came the actual drinking.

Matt, who was apparently now actively sabotaging his tenuous grasp on sanity, had also decided to cut him off before he got drunk enough to blissfully pass out, and safely bypass the temptation into the next morning. Instead, he'd called it an early night, paid, and driven Alex home, right at the point where he'd started tripping over his feet and getting hot under the collar. And now after this disastrous chain of events he was at home, trying to maintain his balance while toeing off his shoes, entirely too drunk and yet entirely too awake.

The quiet that was comforting every other hour of the day, seemed like it was pulsing all around him now. No distraction. No fail-safe. 

The part of his brain that was still functional and valiantly trying to stop him from acting on all his worst impulses, was telling him that he could just raid his own mini bar, put himself in a lovely alcohol coma and wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache and a preserved dignity. But the rest of his treacherous body, leading him to the bedroom as if on autopilot while his shaky hand scrambled with his phone in his pocket, was conspiring on another course of action. He wanted to talk to Miles. He needed it. It had been so fucking long, and he suddenly ached, his whole body vibrating like a strummed open string. 

_ They hadn't seen each other much this past year. The brunt of the blame, unsurprisingly, was Alex's, too caught up in his mental spiral to stop his self destructive tendencies, and it had manifested in avoidance, awkwardness, and an eventual loud and painful fight, which, pathetically, may have been the most alive Alex felt in months. The following months passed with Miles fuming and Alex in a drunken stupor in some poorly decorated Parisian flat. Back then he'd make sure to plow through the dangerous zone, and straight into oblivion, and it worked. He hadn't sent a single whiny voicemail, hadn't written a single rambling drunk text. He'd evaded successfully.  _

_ Of course, Miles Kane's gravitational field could only be escaped so much, and a few weeks prior, as Miles landed in Paris for the Celine fashion show, Alex decided he'd been drifting long enough. He'd waited backstage patiently, watching Miles laugh animatedly with the girl next to him (that should have been him), and after the end of the show he'd steeled himself, and prepared to make his approach. Miles, of course, figured he'd beat him to the punch, noticing him amongst the backstage crowd before he even took a step. His eyes had lit up with something indecipherable, every inch of him inviting in his leather and eyeliner, and Alex practically had to curl his toes into the ground in his expensive boots to stop himself from vaulting onto Miles and  _ **_inhaling_ ** _. _

_ Instead he stood still, Miles made his way over, and they talked: _

_ "Why hello", Miles said, question apparent in his tone, even through that ever present glint in his eyes pinning Alex down like prey, "I didn't think I'd see you here." He scanned the space around Alex, and his voice gained just a hint of that edge. "At least not by yourself." _

_ Alex knew very well that Miles was less than approving of his latest choice in girlfriend, and he knew even better not to let the conversation take that course. Not when he was seeing Miles alone after so long. "She's not here, I..." He swallowed hard. "I wanted to see ya. Thought this would be a good opportunity. You look...good. Very good." He swallowed again, mentally kicking himself in the head. Alex Turner. Best lyricist of his generation, and all he could come up with was "good". He'd be lucky if Miles didn't laugh in his face, or shout at him again. He probably deserved both. _

_ But Miles did neither. Instead, he let the corner of his mouth curl into a small smile. Alex ached to kiss it. He dug his nails into his palms. "You look good too, Al." Miles said, and Alex begged he wasn't dreaming of the softness in his tone. "I'm glad to see you." _

_ After that they had talked about nothing in particular, and after a while Miles had to excuse himself to go to an after-party with Peter. Before he left, he'd paused, looked at Alex for what seemed like an eternity, and eventually clapped a warm hand on his shoulder, that Alex felt like a thousand volts. "It's been good talking to ye, Al. See ya." _

It was that palm on the shoulder that had haunted Alex for weeks afterwards, and that had left him feeling a certain hollowness he despised. Miles, understandably, didn't want anything more from him anymore. They'd work their way back to their friendship, it felt impossible that they wouldn't, but Miles would never touch him again. Not like that. Not like he'd secretly craved, not like he'd fantasised every time he brought himself off in the shower, biting his forearm so he wouldn't moan out Miles' name. He wouldn't get to smell him again, or trace his torso with his fingers, he wouldn't get to curl up against him after an exhausting gig and just fall asleep to the beat of his heart.

He was suddenly acutely aware of three things: Firstly, his vision was hazy. He wiped at his eyes with a barely coordinated hand and tried to blame it on the tequila still swirling in his bloodstream. He blinked down and realised that, secondly, he had unlocked his phone and was staring at the contacts list. Thirdly, the blood rushing almost too close to his skin was starting to relocate, and suddenly his pants felt much too tight. 

He needed…something. He needed Miles to reassure him that everything would be ok. That he'd be his again and that everything that had come before was just a bad nightmare. But as he stared at the too bright screen of his phone, the names blurring together, a cold fist clutched at his insides: He couldn't stand to be rejected. If he called Miles now and heard his voice, his beautiful, raspy, melodic voice telling him he was sorry, but he didn't love him like that anymore, he'd die right then. He felt on the brink already, skin crawling all over, insides dipping. No, he couldn't bring himself to talk to Miles right now. But he had to communicate…somehow. Miles had to know how he felt, the depth of it, the chaos.

_ "It's been good talking to ye, Al. See ya."  _

No, talking wouldn't do. Alex's eyes suddenly came to focus on the small side table by the bed. 

_ See ya. _

Well. It seemed like, yet again, Miles had already decided for him. With as much purpose as he could muster, he walked over and started moving the table to the foot of the bed.

____________

  
  


The soundcheck was going smoothly, and by the time they were done Miles felt buzzing with excitement. This gig in Brighton was going to be a special one, he knew it. The afternoon had sailed by with the exclusive photoshoot for his new Fred Perry line, where the fans had participated in, and then had stuck around for a chat and some photos of their own. He had fed off their own energy and excitement, hugging a bunch of them and laughing along, and now, at the end of a solid soundcheck, he was feeling ready to rock the stage of his sold out show. Everything was going perfectly.

_ Well, not everything, _ that little voice in his head piped up as he was handing his guitar over to the stage crew and started packing up his stuff. He supposed there was no point in complaining, or worse, moping about it. He'd come to terms with Alex's situation months ago, after their last explosive row, when Alex had refused to budge, thrown some perfectly aimed barbs and ran off to his stupid distraction in Paris. Things between them would never be how he dreamed of, how he'd felt they were  _ so close _ to being after their last Puppets tour. That was as far as Alex could go. He'd just have to resign himself to an eternity of staying his good mate. His bezzie. His  _ brother _ . The words all felt foreign and warped when he tried to work them around in his head nowadays, when he tried to place them around the image of Alex he now knew.

But he supposed what he felt didn't much matter. Alex had made himself quite clear when he'd shown up to the Celine fashion show, looking like he belonged perfectly and like he was horribly out of place at the same time. He hadn't come out to sit beside him. He hadn't even approached him, not even after the end of the main event. Miles wasn't sure if he'd even have known Alex was there if Miles hadn't spotted him first, but after months and months of distance Miles wasn't gonna be stubborn enough to ignore him, or hold on to a petty grudge. He was also, mercifully, alone. Miles had made his way over, and they had discussed a bit. Alex admitted he came there for him, which surprised him pleasantly, but other than that he made no move to touch him, even casually. And he mentioned nothing that might give him the tiniest bit of hope. 

Even so, as they were saying their final goodbyes, the urge to hug him nearly overtook Miles. It had been so long. He would have been OK with just that, wrapping his arms around that small frame, breathing in his pomade mixed with his aftershave and cologne, swaying him back and forth while Alex's nose bumped against his throat. Just that. Barely anything given their history. And yet he wasn't sure he was even allowed this much anymore, not with Alex feeling so detached from him, so he'd settled for a pathetic hand on the shoulder, like he was dismissing some roadie on tour.

It was fine, truly. It was all part of the journey. He was growing, evolving, and accepting Alex as his strictly platonic friend was part of that. He'd get there. Some day. He was Miles fucking Kane and he would power through, no matter what.

Victoria's voice snapped him out of his daze, and he focused back on the present, where she was suggesting they all go for a coffee or grab some lunch before the gig. It seemed like a mighty fine idea, so he followed suit behind them through the corridors of the venue, pulling out his phone to check for any messages he'd missed during the past few hours.

The first name on his notification screen made him stop dead in his tracks.

Telepathy to the rescue, indeed.

He hastily opened up the text, expecting some casual greeting, maybe something related to music Alex had seen that had made him think of Miles. Instead, he was greeted with a 14-minute long video, and the accompanying message:

"WATCH THSI ALOEN !!!!" 

The thumbnail showed Alex, bent over the camera, as if adjusting it. He couldn't make out much detail, but he could clearly see Alex's face. His hair ruffled, devoid of any hair product. His cheeks flushed. His eyes slightly glossy. 

Miles could suddenly hear nothing over the pulse hammering in his throat. This was a dizzyingly familiar scenario, far from the first time he received something like this when Alex was drunk in another zip code, but he absolutely wasn't expecting to ever experience it again. There was no way. His thumb hovered over the play button.

"Miles!" 

Miles' head snapped up. The rest of the band were at the end of the hallway, looking back to see why he wasn't following. It seemed like they'd called his name more than once, and Nathan was giving him a funny look. "Everything alright?"

Miles gave them a smile, forcing himself to appear unfazed even though he was pretty sure he was clutching his phone hard enough to shatter it. "Yeah yeah, I just remembered I have to make some phone calls, so why don't you guys go ahead, and I'll join you later?"

He barely registered the look they exchanged before he was turning dead on his heels and striding to the closest empty dressing room, scrambling to get his headphones out of his bag, and kicking the door shut behind him.

As he plugged the headphones in with way too shaky hands, he took a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure. It probably wasn't what he was imagining at all. Most likely Alex had sent an accidental drunk video, recording 14 minutes of ceiling and snoring, and he was just getting worked up over nothing. He shook his head, let himself slide down with his back pressed to the door, and pressed play.

The screen filled up with Alex's face, camera shaking as he tried to prop it up horizontally. When it finally became steady enough for his liking, he took a few careful steps back, the unmistakable way he did when he was drunk and trying to move with extra caution so he wouldn't fall over. He stopped when the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and Miles paused the video, to get a good look at him. His face had an openness he hadn't seen in a while that he'd terribly missed, the kind he got after a few drinks when he was loose enough to lay a warm palm on Miles' knee and whisper obscenities in his ear, making them both giggle. The rest of him looked just as good, dressed in a crisp white shirt and tight jeans. And right there, in the middle of the frame, the centerpiece of the action:

Alex was visibly, unavoidably hard.

The blood in Miles' ears rapidly moved south, as if in sympathy, and he had to choke back a soft moan, clenching his fist on his thigh. He'd been far from celibate during his time apart from Alex, but none of the other times had come even close to feeling like this. All he had to do was look at Alex in this state,  _ wanting,  _ and he was overwhelmed in an instant.

He pressed play again, ready.

Alex plopped on the bed with a sigh, lifted himself slightly to sit on his haunches, and tried to focus his eyes on the camera. It seemed almost a struggle to keep his eyes open, and Miles watched transfixed as Alex's lidded eyes landed on his, through two cellphones and an ocean.

"Hey Mi." His voice was rough with alcohol and lust, and Miles bit his lip as he felt himself growing even harder. "I'm just...I wanted to call you, but I'm not-- I'm a bit of a coward I think." He huffed a shaky laugh, body swaying tantalizingly slow, thighs spreading a little wider, and Miles' stomach lurched in anticipation. "I thought I could do it, I could stay away and I'd be alright, but I'm not, I'm not, Mi. I know this is all my fault and I couldn't hear you say that again, I couldn't hear you turn me down, but I was thinking about you so much, so much, and I-I'm--" His voice had pitched almost to a whine now, and Miles watched hungrily as Alex squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his palm over his cock. Their breaths hitched at the same time, but Miles made no move to mimic him. It felt paradoxically good like this, watching Alex work himself while he let his cock throb and ache in his trousers. 

He brought the phone even closer to his face, as Alex on the screen squeezed and stroked through the denim, breath stuttering. "I'm sorry." He was all but whimpering now. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know you don't want this, but I can't stop, Mi, I can't, I need you here with me." Miles was panting now, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from shouting at the screen.  _ You idiot. How could you ever think I don't want this? How could you deprive me of this for so long? _ Alex was looking down, mumbling something too quietly for the camera to catch, and he was unbuttoning his jeans, getting up on his knees to shove them past his hips, dragging his underwear along, and Miles did moan out loud now, soft in the back of his throat, as Alex's cock slapped against his belly, the head red and shiny with precome. He didn't hesitate this time, and started stroking himself, setting a quick pace, his labored breathing filling Miles' ears.

He worked himself like that for a spell, thumb passing over the head like Miles knew he liked, his other hand sliding further down to palm his balls. "Oh God, it's not enough is it, no, no, never enough when you're not here." Miles nodded along, ridiculously, feeling his cock press a wet spot where it was still trapped in his underwear. Alex's hands suddenly stilled, eyes shooting open to look back at the nightstand for a long second, and then, with a low whine, he tucked two fingers in his mouth.

"Oh yes, baby." Miles couldn't stop the words as they rumbled out of his chest, and he pressed his hand on his headphones, desperate to hear the soft sucking sounds Alex made around his fingers. He half wanted to close his eyes and visualize around them, bring back images of Alex on his knees in front of him, sucking him wetly with a wicked glint in his eyes, but he shook off the impulse, fixing his gaze on Alex getting his fingers obscenely wet, while his other hand slowly started stroking again.

When Alex was satisfied, he pulled his fingers from his mouth, a spit trail still connecting them to his lip that Miles wanted to lick off, and shuffled to his side, presenting Miles with the swell of his bum.  _ Fucking Alex,  _ Miles mused through the pulse leaping in his throat, _ drunk as hell and horny out of his mind, but every second the proper exhibitionist.  _ Then every other thought vanished, as Alex arched his back and pressed both fingers in at once, a guttural moan ripping through him. Miles wanted to whine, wanted to moan, wanted to laugh maniacally at the sight, but before he could quite decide on which, Alex was babbling again. "Oooh, it's not the same baby, it's not the same when it's just me, you should be here, you should be here  _ fucking me _ \--" and Miles was gone, shoving his hand in his pants and madly fisting his neglected cock, breath coming out in a sob. 

"Yes Alex, yes baby, come for me, let me see it, let me see you--", he murmured madly, fist passing rough and tight over his own over-sensitive head, and he saw Alex nearing the brink with him, hips pushing forward in the tunnel of his fist and then rocking back on his fingers, while he moaned and sobbed and threw his head back.

"Miles, I'm coming! I'm coming baby, Miles, Miles, Miles, Mi--". The rest of his mantra was cut off as his breath hitched in his throat, body pulled taut like a perfectly tuned guitar string, and then he was coming all over his hand with a whimper, thick stripes coating his fingers and dripping on the bedspread, and Miles was right there with him, biting his cheek to stop himself from howling as he came hard and wet in his boxers.

Alex swayed there for a while, suspended in the moment, and then, inch by inch, slowly came back to himself, gingerly removing his fingers and wiping his hands on the covers. He clumsily pulled his boxers up, and then shifted off the bed to shuffle towards his phone, decidedly more shy about it now that the haze had passed. Miles watched him as he made his way closer to the camera, hair softly falling over his now sleepy eyes, cheeks rosy and expression soft and dreamlike, just as he looked every time after a good orgasm. the wave of longing surged through Miles almost painfully, and with barely any thought he leaned in and planted a kiss on the screen, right on Alex's pixelated, angelic face. When he lifted his head the camera was shaking once more, an unflattering lower angle of Alex peeking through, and then the video ended.

Miles sighed and let his phone clatter to the side, head thudding on the door. This was... something. This was a lot, actually. Alex wanted him. There was no doubt about that. Alex wanted him, and he was afraid Miles didn't want him back, which was such a ridiculous notion that Miles felt a delirious laugh bubbling from his chest. He checked the messages again, this time looking for the timestamp. Alex had sent the video hours ago, meaning he was probably fast asleep by now. Miles got up on slightly shaky legs and wiped his hand on his already filthy underwear. He'd have to go back to the bus to change. Then he'd meet up with his band, he'd have something to eat, and after blowing the roof off the venue tonight, he'd make a very important phone call.

He felt that Alex deserved a pleasant surprise right back.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic attempt for this fandom so, be gentle! Leave a comment if you enjoyed! 
> 
> Title is from the song Telephone Line by Electric Light Orchestra, the lyrics are especially appropriate ;)


End file.
